Unintentional
by Klondike Aura
Summary: Sometimes we don't think things through and do things we regret. But only a little.


Unintentional

A Princess Tutu fanfiction by Klondike Aura

* * *

"What _are _you doing?" Autor asks, adjusting his glasses with a glare.

Rue glances up, smiling despite catching her breath, and it's almost enough to get Autor to drop his glare. "Hey, just taking a break." But her smile fades as he continues to stare her down. "What?"

"You are leaning _on my piano_," he complains.

Rue slouches further back at that, letting her arms rest more completely on it. "Yeah? What about it?"

Autor steps closer. "It is not your piano to lean on and potentially scratch or break."

Rue rolls her eyes. "It's a piano. It's built to be strong. It can handle this. Honestly, you treat it like a baby."

He sighs. "Why are you being difficult for no reason?"

"I thought that's what you liked," she tells him as innocently as possible.

Autor sighs through his nose, rubbing the bridge with his fingers.

"If you want, I can sit by you on the bench," she offers.

"What?!" he yelps, yanking his hand away.

"I thought you might like that," Rue goes, stepping over to the bench. "What were you going to play?"

Autor huffs and tries to sit down like normal without touching Rue. "Just some Chopin."

"Well, don't mind me," she says, waiting for him to play.

He huffs again and rests his fingers on the keys. Finding no more time to waste, he begins to play. Just as he admires Rue's excellent pointework, she follows his hands as they trail up and down the keys, mesmerized as he plays without flaw. Autor only fumbles when she accidentally leans on him.

"Sorry," she goes, sitting up again. "Please don't stop."

Autor tilts his head down by her ear and murmurs, "You're distracting me." He tries to continue, slower in his playing this time.

Rue ends up leaning on his shoulder again. She can't deny that she likes the way he can't help but notice her. It's so sweet that she can't help kissing his cheek.

Autor stops playing again. "You're making it worse," he tells her, his voice dropping to a husky tone.

Rue murmurs, "Mm, don't care anymore."

"Hmm," Autor hums back, growing more and more apathetic about playing piano as Rue's fingers scratch at his chest. He turns to face her on the bench and smooths his hand along her arm. He traces his fingers along her jaw before leaning in for a kiss.

Rue loops her arms around his neck, tugging him closer. She shifts in his hold, straddling his lap.

"Rue!" Autor exclaims as he nearly falls back off the bench. Fortunately, the bench is heavy enough for him to regain his balance.

She giggles sheepishly. "I'm sorry."

He pulls her up, hands firm on her hips. "No, you're not."

She leans just a bit closer and goes, "I'm not sure you're sorry about it."

"It's not exactly a good position," Autor mutters.

Rue grins and challenges, "Then do something about it."

Autor stands up, pushing the bench back so Rue doesn't sit on the keys.

"You're stronger than you look," she comments.

"I manage," he answers, giving her bottom a squeeze.

"So what're we gonna do now?" she murmurs by his ear, giving his lobe a kiss.

Autor forces a breath out and goes, "Stop that, I'm trying to think." But his thinking doesn't carry them too far, and he ends up taking her to the spot she was leaning on earlier. "Not a word about you being right," he says before sitting her on the lid and taking away her opportunity to do so by pressing his lips to hers.

Once her mouth is free, Rue can't find the words to tell him she told him so. She grips the edge of the piano and pants as Autor kisses her neck, his fingers tugging down the top of her leotard. She reaches up, letting her arm slip free from the dancewear, and winds her fingers in his hair while he nibbles on her now-bare collarbone. She puts her trust in his support as he continues to strip her, moaning at the shock of his hot mouth on her bare skin. She shudders both at his attention and the feel of the cool wooden lid directly on her back.

"Autor?" she calls out.

Autor stops mid-trailing his kisses along Rue's belly and lifts his head up. "Hm?"

"Come here," she requests, putting her hand against his cheek.

He gladly obliges, bracing his hands on the piano as he leans over to kiss her. Autor lets out a muffled groan as Rue arches up against him. He presses to her, and she breaks their kiss. He nuzzles her neck again, licking the pulse point there. He slides his hands back down to her hips and tugs at her leotard and tights. Autor loses himself in the act to the point that he has to prop himself back up again and properly drink in the sight of Rue on the piano.

"Oh god, I love you," he tells her in a whispered breath, reaching out to brush some of her hair out of her eyes.

Rue smiles despite her worry that his overwhelming words will make her cry. She distracts from that by reaching up for another kiss. She grasps his shirt, unbuttoning her way down and smoothing her hands over his chest. She softly moans at his gasps, fingers tracing over the shifting muscles in his stomach. She slips her fingers in the waistband of his trousers.

The piano stands firm, offering no creaks or shifts. Despite the intensity of their cries or the vigor of their movements, it holds solid. The lid suffers no scratches, though their skin ends up marked red by clawed fingers.

Rue flattens her hands on Autor's shoulders, her touch softer now that they're catching their breaths. She nuzzles him again with a satisfied sigh.

But then Autor bolts up. "Oh damn, what have we done?!"

Rue blinks up at him, curious. Their relationship had been established long before. What could he be surprised about?

"Did we just-? On the _piano_?!" he screeches.

Autor deposits Rue back on the piano bench as gently as he has mind for. He grabs his cravat and wipes what sweat and breathy condensation was left from their activities. Rue wraps her arms around her belly and laughs. She smiles when Autor turns to stare her down, still ruffled from his realization.

"I'm sorry," she tells him. "We won't again. Just...thanks for not dropping me on the floor."

Autor harumphs and stammers, "Well, it didn't do much to the piano, thank goodness. Next time, let's try to use th- the proper furniture for this?"

_fin_


End file.
